God Ash: Remnants of the fallen.-Chapter 1382: Sea of Salt (2).

Nero threw himself backward, the axe blade slamming into the stone where his chest had been. The impact sent fragments of rock flying, one of them cutting a line across Nero's cheek.

Blood ran down his face, dripping onto the fungus-covered floor.

The creature inhaled deeply, as if savoring a pleasant aroma.

"Yes," it breathed. "Yes, that's perfect. Keep bleeding, boy. Keep fighting. The longer this goes on, the more blood is spilled, the stronger I become."

Nero scrambled to his feet, backing toward the pool. Arthur and Jacob followed, both of them bleeding now from multiple wounds. Arthur's enchanted sword dripped crimson. Jacob's face was a mask of blood from the reopened gash on his forehead.

And behind them, the creature watched with evident satisfaction, its white wooden mask tilted in what might have been pleasure.

Nero's back hit something solid.

He glanced over his shoulder and his blood ran cold.

He'd backed up to the very edge of the pool. The crystal-clear water lapped at his heels, and in its depths, that vast impossible thing still slumbered, unaware of the violence unfolding above.

Arthur and Jacob advanced from the front, cutting off any escape.

To his right, more fungus-covered wall.

To his left, the same.

Behind him, the pool and the thing within it.

He was trapped.

Arthur lunged, his sword thrusting straight for Nero's heart.

Nero twisted, the blade passing so close he felt it tear through his shirt. He grabbed Arthur's sword arm with his good hand and pulled, using the noble's momentum to throw him off balance.

Arthur stumbled toward the pool's edge.

For a moment, Nero thought he would fall in.

But at the last second, whatever controlled him adjusted, and Arthur caught himself, spinning back around with his sword already moving in a backhanded cut.

Jacob's axe came from the other side.

Nero dropped flat, both weapons passing over him. He kicked out with his good leg, catching Jacob behind the knee. The big man went down, but immediately began pushing himself back up with that same mechanical precision.

This couldn't continue. Nero was already exhausted from drawing the array, from the ritual, from his injuries. His movements were getting slower, his reactions dulled by pain and fatigue.

And Arthur and Jacob showed no signs of tiring at all.

They pressed their attack with relentless coordination. Arthur high, Jacob low. One from the left while the other circled right. Feints followed by real strikes followed by more feints. They fought like they'd trained together for years, every movement perfectly synchronized.

Nero managed to deflect Arthur's sword with his dagger, but the force of the blow sent his weapon flying from his grip. It clattered across the stone floor, coming to rest near the edge of the chamber.

Unarmed now except for his wits.

Jacob's axe caught him across the thigh, a shallow cut but enough to make his leg buckle. Nero went down on one knee, his hand pressed against the wound to stem the bleeding.

Arthur's sword came down in an overhead strike aimed at splitting Nero's skull.

Nero threw himself to the side at the last possible moment, the blade carving through the fungus where his head had been. He rolled, came up running despite the pain in his leg, and made for his dagger.

He almost reached it.

Then Jacob was there, his axe slamming down to block Nero's path. The blade embedded itself in the stone floor with a crack like thunder.

Nero changed direction, but Arthur cut him off from that angle too.

They herded him back toward the pool, back toward that crystal-clear water and the horror sleeping beneath.

The creature's laughter echoed through the chamber again.

"This is delightful!" it said. "You're doing so well, boy. Fighting so hard to survive. To protect your friends even while they try to kill you. It's almost tragic, really. Almost beautiful."

Nero's breathing was ragged now, each inhalation sending spikes of agony through his broken ribs. His left arm hung useless, blood soaking through his shirt from the cut across his bicep. His leg throbbed where Jacob's axe had caught it.

And Arthur and Jacob just kept coming.

They attacked in perfect unison, their weapons moving in patterns designed to leave no opening, no escape. Arthur's sword cut high while Jacob's axe swept low. When Nero dodged left, they were already there. When he tried to go right, they cut him off.

They were herding him. Corralling him like livestock.

Driving him toward the pool.

Nero's heel touched water and he stopped, refusing to go any further. Whatever was in that pool, he wanted no part of it.

Arthur and Jacob stood five feet away, both bleeding from multiple wounds, both staring at him with those empty eyes.

Then they turned on each other again.

Arthur's sword carved through Jacob's shoulder, opening the wound wider. Jacob's axe caught Arthur across the ribs, the sound of breaking bone audible even over the creature's laughter.

Blood poured from both of them, splashing onto the fungus-covered floor.

And with each drop spilled, the runes in the array behind them glowed brighter.

Nero realized what was happening. The blood was feeding the ritual. Every wound, every cut, every drop that hit the floor was strengthening whatever working the creature had set in motion.

He had to stop this.

Had to break the possession.

Had to find a way to—

Jacob's axe caught Arthur in the side of the head.

Not the blade—the flat of it, in a strike clearly meant to stun rather than kill. Arthur went down hard, blood streaming from his temple.

Then Jacob turned back to Nero, his empty eyes fixing on him with terrible purpose.

Nero had no weapon. No strength left. No options. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

He was going to die here.

After everything he'd survived—the wilderness, the Abominations, the journey from Gor, the mark of Mephistopheles, the transformation into something inhuman—he was going to die in this forgotten chamber because he'd trusted the wrong creature.

Because he'd been desperate enough to believe an obvious lie.

Jacob raised his axe for a killing blow.

And Nero thought, with a bitter clarity that cut through the fear and pain:

*Oh, the irony.*